Sequel
by FFYP-Det-Lawliet
Summary: Beyond Birthday isn't the type to give up easily - and if at first you don't succeed... Set after the BB murder case - therefore riddled with spoilers for Another Note. Rated T for strong language and... well, would YOU trust B with your kids?
1. Frankenstein Reborn

_**Disclaimer: **_Death Note_? Mine?! Kya ha ha… No… Ho ho ho… Nah, not that either. Hyuk hyuk… wait - that's taken… Henh henh henh… That'll do…_

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Events played out around him like scenes from a movie. Fade to black - in, out, in, out… It continued, he didn't know how long for. He didn't care. He simply longed for the final iris out - it would be like the old black and white movies at the end. No credits, nothing. Just the end. But it didn't come. Fate had commissioned a sequel. Like Frankenstein's monster, he had survived the inferno and found himself alone. Again. An abandoned experiment. A shameful mistake.

A monster.

There wasn't a part of him that didn't hurt. He had doused himself in flammable liquid and set himself alight - there was bound to be considerable damage - he just hadn't planned on being around long enough to find out exactly how much. Up to 85 percent of his body would be permanently scarred, he had heard someone say. A prison doctor, perhaps? Probably. He hadn't been paying much attention anyway. It sounded about right though. He was likely to look more like Freddie Kreuger than Frankenstein's monster.

Not that it mattered.

His plan had failed. L had beaten him. Again.

He had so wanted to win. To beat L. To make him feel second rate, inadequate. To show L what it felt like to be in someone else's shadow. He had wanted it so badly he was willing to die for it.

He had wanted to die for it. What else was there but failure?

That must have been how A felt. Poor, pathetic A. What did A even stand for, anyway? He had never found out. Maybe 'Alternative' or 'After-image' - something as equally degrading as 'Backup.'

A had never been so bold as to challenge his predecessor, to attempt to best him. He was too scared. Too weak. Poor, pathetic A.

But… A had escaped. B had not. He was still caught up in his own personal horror - and worse, in prison too. A had gained freedom. B had lost. Again. Fate had commissioned a sequel.

A sequel!

Ignoring the searing pain he felt all over his body, Beyond Birthday struggled to prop himself up in bed. A passing nurse faltered as she saw him, and alerted the doctor on duty.

"Steady there, son," the doctor called, rushing over to the bed with all manner of medical equipment. He and the nurse began fussing over B, checking his wounds and dressings.

B carefully arranged his face into the most sincere and grateful smile he could muster. It was agony, but still… it sure was nice for these people to put him up like this.

For now.

* * *

_**Author's note:**__ Since reading _Another Note,_ I have become endeared to B. He's far too fascinating to be ignored, hence this fic. I just hope I get him at least almost right… _

_I have had this chapter typed up for a while, but I've been far too nervous to post it. Unaccustomed as I am to writing anything with any semblance of a continuous plot or degree of depth, the very notion of trying to put together a multi-chaptered fic is pretty daunting… However, with needling from FFYP-det-Yagami and encouragement from With Bunny (both really good writers and generally nice people), I have finally been persuaded to get off my arse and post the damned thing. So, if you like it - thank them. If you hate it - blame them. XD _

_Apologies for the brevity of this chapter - the second instalment is unlikely to be much longer but… bear with me. Hopefully this was enough to set the scene, get into B's current mind frame and instil some kind of interest in the plot. _

_Read it? Enjoyed it? Yes? No? Whatever your opinion, I'd love to know what you think!_


	2. Closer

_**Disclaimer:**__ I have nothing to do with _Death Note_ or _Another Note_. I read them, I love them, I devote far too much of my life to them - that is all._

* * *

"AAAAAAAAAAUGH!!"

2:13 a.m. The dour silence of the ward destroyed by a piercing scream.

"AAAAAAAAAAUGH!!"

"Not again…" Nurse Asher abandoned her cup of coffee and rushed to the far corner of the large, dim-lit room.

The young man in the corner bed was given to these fits. At around the same time every night, he would wake up, thrashing and shrieking.

"It's all right… shh…"

The nurse gently reached for the young man's hand and clasped it in her own, as she did every night. She imagined it would have caused him pain, given the extent of his burns, but it seemed to comfort him. He stopped writhing almost instantly, his screams withering into heavy, shuddering breaths. Wide, bulging eyes stared blankly up at the ceiling.

"The… the flames…"

He gripped her hand so tightly it hurt. She placed her other hand on his in reply.

"The flames, yes - I know, honey. There, there…" She spoke in hushed tones, as if pacifying a young child. Other patients swore and cursed as the young man continued to make pained whimpering sounds.

"F- flames… And those… faces…" He turned his head to face her.

His skin, already red and scarred from the fire, had clearly caught on his pillow - he was bleeding in several places. Wiry tufts of black hair stuck out at odd angles on his scalp, the rest having been burned off.

His moonlight-silver eyes gazed imploringly into hers. Her heart ached.

This man was a serial killer. She had reminded herself every night for the past fortnight. A brutal, disturbed murderer. He had killed three people in the most horrendous ways - using methods so cruel and bizarre it was beyond belief.

He had tried to kill himself…

Every night he woke screaming. Every night he held her hand, trembling and crying. It was always the same thing - the flames, the faces. _Those_ faces. His victims?

Nurse Asher had heard rumours that this man had not even been given a trial. That kind of treatment was reserved only for the worst kind of criminal - devious, cold, brutal people who felt no shame for their cruel deeds.

No guilt. Nothing.

Unlike this man.

Barely even a man - he was still so young… she had a nephew about his age.

Poor boy.

Surely there was something…?

Patting his hand gently, she rose and made her way over to the small office where supplies were kept. She could feel him watching her every move. She returned with ointments and cloths and began tending his wounds. He whined pitifully as she dabbed the lotion onto his raw flesh.

"It's all right, sweetie…"

Beyond Birthday smiled awkwardly, not _at _these words, but _because_ of them.

"Nurse…" His voice was thin and weak. It matched his form, as it should.

"What is it, love?"

"You won't leave me… alone… will you?"

The sting of the ointment pricked B's eyes and glazed them with tears. He blinked to release them.

"Of course not, sweetheart."

He smiled as her expression softened with her reply. She wouldn't. She didn't. She never did.

When the chief medic arrived for his shift at seven, the night's events were reported and recommendations were made for psycho-analytical tests.

Beyond Birthday smiled when he heard the news. He was good at tests.

* * *

_**Author's note:**__I would like to make it clear at this point that I know very little about psychology, psychiatry or anything else beginning with 'psy,' so I apologise if the term 'psycho-analytical' was used incorrectly. B's having brain tests. XP _

_Another short chapter. Much as it saddened me to have the chapter almost completely from an OC's POV, I just thought it would be best to contrast the way B is with the way he's perceived by others… if that makes any sense. I'm unsure any of it made any sense… Any questions? You know where to find me..._

_Big hugs to all who have posted reviews, signed up for alerts or added _Sequel_ to favourite lists already - and hugs in advance for anyone tempted to do the same now! I like reviews. Whatever you have to say, say it - it'll be much appreciated. :D _


	3. Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind

_**Disclaimer:**__ B is not mine - he was created by NISIOISIN… I couldn't possibly thank him enough. :D_

* * *

Not since the invention of inoculations had there been such debate amongst doctors. Weeks of testing on Beyond Birthday had proved fruitless - practically nothing had been learned of the young man's mental processes.

Nothing definite, anyway.

The first run of tests forced a unanimous conclusion amongst the staff of the prison's hospital wing - Beyond Birthday was completely and utterly sane. Occasionally, the subject had provided signs that could be attributed to mild personality disorders, but it was nothing out of the ordinary - the kind of results one could expect from most people at some point throughout their lives. Perfectly normal. So normal, in fact, that some doctors questioned the results.

The purpose of the tests was to define whether there was any mental abnormality, latent or otherwise, that may have contributed to Birthday's actions. A number of staff, Nurse Asher in particular, had observed that the young man's behaviour on the ward was not in keeping with the kind of conduct expected from a brutal killer.

A murderer. They weren't dealing with an ordinary petty thief - this man was a killer, one whose methods had been bizarre and elaborate, whose victims had been slaughtered in a manner so horrific it would have disturbed even some of the most hardened inmates at the top-security prison. He had attempted suicide too - this fact alone was reason enough to worry about his mental well-being, but to choose to set himself alight as a means of achieving his goal… it was hardly an easy and pain-free option.

One other important factor which had contributed to the decision to submit Beyond Birthday to testing was his I.Q. He was not a mindless thug, driven to commit acts of brutality simply out of an inability to express feelings of rage - he was a genius, no question. Even if the prison staff hadn't received information (scant as it was) regarding Birthday's exceptional talents, just looking at some of the details of his case were enough to show that the Wara Ningyo murderer was in possession of a sharp mind and an active imagination. It was with these facts in mind that the medical staff had decided to test Birthday for mental disorders; and because of these facts that they agreed on a re-test.

The second set of tests had drawn a unanimous conclusion too - Beyond Birthday was clinically insane. He showed strong symptoms of almost every social, mental and personality disorder imaginable.

Again, the doctors were suspicious. They may be dealing with a highly intelligent, cold-blooded killer, but for one person to be able to suffer so badly from so many abnormalities and yet remain in control of their conscious actions was so unlikely that it was practically impossible. Even if it were possible - science is not wholly infallible after all, and there's always a first time for everything - the mere fact that the second set of results differed so wildly from the first were grounds for suspicion anyway.

And so, more tests were carried out. They tried different methods of testing, different doctors, even different locations - everything they could think of. Still they were unable to reach a satisfactory conclusion. Each time he was tested, Birthday provided results that were wildly different to the last set. Was he insane or not? Had he suffered from a disorder of some kind at any point in his life? The prison staff had been given very little of Birthday's background information, and so no clue could be derived from contacting friends or relatives - they didn't even know if he had any. And with such inconsistencies in the results and no chance of sending him for an MRI (they had neither the funding nor the inclination to provide that kind of service to inmates), they were forced to abandon their mission. Beyond Birthday, it was concluded, was unfathomable.

As the weeks had passed by, Birthday had, however, greatly improved physically - that much they could tell. Considering the amount of damage he had caused himself through his failed suicide attempt, his wounds had healed up remarkably well, and quickly too. Though there was inevitably plenty of visible evidence of the effects of the fire - grizzled scars and angry welts disturbed the otherwise smooth landscape of his young face and body - the damage had been much less than initially expected. Whilst the condition of his mind could not be determined, Birthday's body was astonishingly strong - he was clearly physically stable enough to be discharged from the hospital wing.

Since his arrival, however, Birthday had caused much discussion amongst not only the medical staff, but the prison officers too. They were wary of the new arrival, especially after news of his extensive but inconclusive psychological tests had gotten out. The prison staff wanted to know what they were dealing with; if Beyond Birthday would be a danger to them and the other inmates. Despite the lack of clarity of the test results, the heads of the medical department assured them that he would be fine, and that they had one very good reason for believing so.

In each set of tests, one thing had remained constant. Looking at the results, it was hard to believe, but there had been a strong element of consistency in just one area. Beyond Birthday's behaviour was impeccable. During the tests and whilst in the ward in general, basic observations had proved that his general demeanour was one of calm rationality - he was polite, soft-spoken and frank. Occasionally a little… idiosyncratic, but otherwise a pleasant young man - especially when compared to some of the other resident murderers. Eventually it was decided that this, and the fact that the hospital wing was running short of beds, was reason enough to warrant Birthday's integration into the system proper.

There were some employees on both sides, however, who insisted that Birthday should be visited regularly by one of the medical staff, with a view to monitoring his behaviour. Beyond Birthday seemed to welcome the idea when the Chief Medical Officer told him.

"It would be nice to have a visitor sometimes," Beyond smiled, wistfully gazing into middle-distance. "Although… would it be impudent of me to request a specific person?"

The Chief Medical Officer thought for a moment. Was there any harm in letting him choose who saw him? No, he didn't suppose there was. In fact, if allowing Birthday to see someone he felt he could trust meant that there was some small chance that they could shed some light on the mystery of this young killer's psyche, it may turn out to be of benefit.

"Who would you like to visit you?"

"I was wondering…" Beyond muttered, sleet-grey eyes sparkling under the ward's fluorescent strip-lighting "…if Nurse Asher would check on me. I like her…"

The doctor nodded. Asher did seem to get on well with Birthday - he was sure she would say yes.

"I'll see what I can do, son."

Beyond Birthday's face split into a lopsided grin.

"Thank you doctor. You're ever so helpful…"

* * *

_**Author's note:**__ Aaah… not much of B himself here, but he's certainly got everyone talking about him! I really wanted to have a scene where B was actually doing the tests, but I couldn't find enough info on the topic to write that and feel satified with it... although I did learn a lot of interesting things about my own mental state whilst researching! :O_

_Was this chapter even slightly believable though? Did you enjoy it? Have you figured out what B is up to? Do you want to read on? Am I asking too many questions? _

_...You know where the review button is if you need it._


	4. Felon

_**Author's Note: **This is where that 'T' rating really comes in - expect some coarse language, people. You have been warned. _

_See if you can guess where I got the names for the inmates and prison officer from too!_

_**Disclaimer: **This... is... FAN FICTION!!! _

_

* * *

_

The mirror in the examination room of the hospital wing was protected by a thick sheet of plastic, screwed into place over the top. A myriad of tiny scratches congregated to form a misty haze on the shield's surface; larger marks cut zigzagged patterns into the spoiled sheet like battle-scars. In many ways, Beyond Birthday felt that the plastic reflected him better than the mirror beneath it ever could - but still…

He stood before the full-length mirror, flexing his bare toes on the tiled flooring, observing his own reflection with great scrutiny as he changed into his prison overalls. He had not seen himself properly since before his arrest. The effects of the fire were quite startling.

For some time after he had been taken into the prison hospital, Beyond had been unable to eat, resulting in significant weight loss. His already scrawny build now even more meagre, the curvature of his spine seemed accentuated. The bones of his joints were clearly visible under his marred flesh, too, further emphasising his gangling frame.

The scarring to his skin was remarkably slight, Beyond considered. Up to eighty-five percent damage, they'd said. _Henh henh_… At a rough estimate, it looked more like forty… maybe forty-five percent - they had clearly underestimated his ability to heal.

_How stupid._

The mottled red patches of scar tissue contrasted with his milky pale skin. Like strawberries and cream, Beyond mused.

Or bloodstains on a white shirt.

He grinned.

"You look happy today, love," a familiar voice chirped, cheerfully.

"Oh _yes_, Nurse Asher," Beyond smiled back, fastening the last stud on his overalls. "Happy to be alive."

He was about to meet his new playmates, after all…

--

"What the shit happened to that scabby fuck?"

"Fight with the girlfriend, I reckon - face in the deep fryer."

Raucous laughter.

"Girlfriend? Him? Nah - looks like an ass-bandit to me. Watch out, Marny - he'll 'ave ya!"

More laughter.

"No, no - 'e must've done it 'imself - I mean, if I was a lanky streak of piss like 'im, I'd fuckin' well burn meself! Look at it!"

Beyond Birthday stopped suddenly and stared at the jeering crowd.

_James Johnson - 192 hours, 17 minutes_

_Nicolas Cerretti - 191 hours, 58 minutes_

_Dustin Prince - 149018 hours… about 17 years… hmm…_

_Oliver Marnier - 197 hours, 2 minutes…_

"Come on," drawled the prison officer, tugging sharply at the handcuffs that bound Beyond's wrists, "you've got years ahead of you to get to know your little friends."

_Oh, really?_

"They're right though, you know," Beyond murmured, falling into step beside his escort.

_Hugh Appleby - 192 hours, 23 minutes._

_Interesting._

"I did set fire to myself. Perhaps I'll tell you about it some day. Sad story, very sad - although… I doubt you'd understand…"

They walked the rest of the way in silence. On reaching his cell, Beyond was pushed roughly inside and the cuffs were removed.

"Sink. Bed. Shelf. Bed-pan," grunted Hugh the prison officer, pointing accordingly at the contents of the room. "That's all you're getting, and more than you deserve. Communal shower's down the hall. Lights out at nine thirty, wake up call at six. Chief'll be along later to get you sorted with your job. Meanwhile… I'll leave you to chat with your new friends, shall I?"

"Oh, yes. Yes. Certainly. Thank you very much… Mr. Appleby."

Hugh Appleby stared hard at Beyond. He didn't remember telling the prisoner his name…

"Well… um… good," Hugh mumbled, backing out of the doorway. He kept his eyes on the young convict until he had clicked the door closed. When had he told Birthday his name? He hadn't…

Perhaps one of the medical staff mentioned it before he'd arrived to escort Birthday to his cell? Yes, that was probably it…

Right?

Beyond Birthday smoothed out the edges of the thin sheet on the cell's tiny, hard bed and smiled. Free room and board. Not bad for a week or so…

Only eight days…

"Well," Beyond muttered to himself, "I'd better get acquainted with my new neighbours pretty quickly then…"

--

Soon after the charming Mr. Hugh Appleby had left him, Beyond wandered back out into the communal area. It was Sunday morning, and so the convicts had the opportunity to attend morning mass at the prison church, or else take some leisure time. Judging by the number of people crowded around the tables of the large communal hall, the church was probably pretty empty right about now. Beyond sought out the group that had been mocking him earlier - he was keen to know all about them. James Johnson and Oliver Marnier were seated in the far corner of the room, playing chess under the watchful eye of a senior guard. Nicolas Cerretti was nowhere to be seen. Dustin Prince sat alone, pretending to read a book as a particularly fierce-looking guard paced back and forth in front of him.

Dustin '17 years to go' Prince.

Perfect.

Prince set his book, a well-thumbed copy of Kafka's _The Trial, _on the table as he saw Beyond approach him. "Ah, a new kid," he grinned, baring large, yellowing teeth as he did so. "What they get you for, stranger?"

"Serial murders," Beyond replied coolly. "You?"

"Ah, nothing really - just a little burglary here, some forgery there… smuggling, assault, arson - you know. But hey - serial murders… like, a lot of 'em, huh? How many of the fuckers you get?"

"Three."

"Three." Prince scratched his bristled chin thoughtfully. "So, where'd you get them damned scars from, stranger? One of 'em get you before you done 'em in?"

"No," Beyond said slowly, "I… I attempted suicide. I believe I heard one of your friends say he'd set himself alight if he were me - that's exactly what I did."

The huge, hairy man frowned at his scrawny new acquaintance, who was staring pointedly at the faux-marble surface of the cheap fold-out table. Suicide? That was when someone tried to kill themselves, right?

"Oh. You heard that, huh? … Ah, don't listen to nothing Toxic Johnson says - he's full of crap. You tried an' kill yourself - that's your business. Look kinda good in them scars anyways - even a scraggly kid like you looks tough with a couple battle scars."

Beyond looked at the angry red welts on his hands. A couple of…? Never mind…

"_Toxic_ Johnson…?"

"Yeah," Prince nodded, pointing over to where the blond convict sat immersed in his game of chess. "That's the guy. Jimmy, his name is really, gut we call him 'Toxic' on account of he poisoned his old lady with rat killer."

"Oh." Beyond grinned. "Very interesting."

"Innit just?" Prince laughed. "Works in the kitchens too - dunno what idiot put him workin' there, but… mind your food when you get it, eh?"

Prince roared with laughter at his own joke, slapping Beyond heartily on the back. Beyond winced - the burns were still pretty tender.

Once Prince had stopped chuckling, Beyond began asking questions. Prince was only too happy to answer them, revealing fairly detailed information about many things - the crimes of the other convicts, how the prison was run, the unspoken hierarchy among the inmates… If Prince was to be believed, he himself was one of the most highly respected criminals in the prison. This, Beyond reasoned, seemed pretty likely, given Prince's extensive knowledge about the place.

How useful.

They talked until lunch, which was eaten in silence, then returned to their cells. It transpired that Prince was just down the corridor from Beyond, and kept his door open for 'invited guests.' That included Beyond, apparently.

How very lovely.

Just after three o'clock, the chief prison officer visited Beyond in his cell to allocate him his job, as Appleby had said he would. The prisoners, as part of their daily routine, each had a set number of jobs to perform. Some prisoners worked in one particular area of the prison, whilst others shared a rota, depending on the ability and mind-frame of the individual. Beyond was to be placed in a set job to begin with, until he got settled in. Starting tomorrow, he was to report to the kitchens after morning exercise, to help with the food preparation.

The kitchen, where 'Toxic' James Johnson worked.

How convenient.

"Oh, good. I imagine I'll enjoy that…"


	5. Union

_**Disclaimer:** B is not mine. Damn._

**A/N:** _More 'colourful' language comin' your way... _

* * *

Beyond had always enjoyed cooking. His mother had introduced him to it when he was five years old, and for a short while afterwards, all he had wanted to be was a chef.

Cooking held all kinds of contradictions - it could be many things, all at once. It was about precision and passion in equal measures. It was science and art at the same time. People cook to eat, eat to live, live to die… eventually.

Beyond watched James Johnson from across the kitchen. He was reasonably tall, thickly built and looked to be somewhere in his mid-thirties. His hairy arms were adorned with the sorts of tattoos that were pitifully predictable from a hardened criminal - in fact, his entire appearance and manner suggested that he had been purposefully designed to fit the role of convict. Dirty blond crop of hair; small, cold eyes; crooked yellowish teeth… yep - definitely a villain. His ape-like gait and confrontational behaviour completed the profile - the man could be made a saint and still no-one would believe he was anything but a felon.

Johnson was tearing open a bag of frozen scrambled egg with his fingernails. There was no passion to the cooking here, no art or science and very little precision. Open and heat. Nothing to it. Open the packaging, heat the contents, serve. Anyone could do it. Beyond was hardly surprised, really - it wouldn't be very wise or logical to hand a group of thugs and murderers a bunch of sharp utensils and give them free reign of the kitchen.

The inmates were strictly monitored at all times, and had to be accompanied whenever they needed to enter either of the two storerooms or the walk-in freezer. The kitchen was laid out in such a way that it was virtually impossible to do anything without one of the staff seeing.

Very sensible.

Such strict moderation meant that it would be near impossible for one of the prisoners to carry out anything untoward without resorting to physical violence - in which case they would still probably fail. Chances were, the kitchen staff were at least trained in basic self-defence, and help would most likely arrive at any sign of trouble. There were CCTV cameras in the kitchen, after all - two, performing a constant 180 degree sweep of their own half of the room. The person who had put Johnson on duty in the kitchen hadn't been as stupid as Prince had thought - there was only a two percent chance, maximum, that someone like Johnson could tamper with the food, steal objects or cause any kind of trouble without being noticed.

But then, not everybody was like Johnson.

--

After dinner that evening, Beyond went to visit Prince in his cell. The burly, bristly prisoner was just wrapping up a conversation with Oliver Marnier when Beyond entered. Marnier stared at Beyond with a mixture of curiosity and severe distrust before hastily bidding Prince farewell and scuttling through the door as quickly as possible. Beyond wondered vaguely if Marnier really believed what Cerretti had said about him being homosexual.

Turning to Beyond when Marnier was safely out of earshot, Prince nodded in the direction of the doorway. "He is shit-scared of you, kid."

Beyond raised his eyebrows slightly.

"Why would that be?"

Prince grinned.

"Well, part of it's what Cerretti said yesterday ' bout you bein' a queer - I think old Marny's bothered you're gonna get 'im in the ass in the showers or something - mind you, he'll swallow any old shit - and the other thing…" Prince said, focusing his hazel eyes intently on Beyond all of a sudden "…is he heard you was some kinda genius or somethin'."

"Oh. I see."

Genius. Having that term applied to you should be an honour. Other people, on finding that you are a genius, should appreciate your enhanced level of intelligence, surely?

Beyond would have thought so.

When he had first been certified a genius, he had been thrilled. Finally, he had something to be proud of. He was special. He was clever. He was a genius. Unfortunately, it quickly became apparent that other people did not feel the same way. A genius - a real, honest-to-goodness genius, not just someone who has outdone themselves on occasion - was someone to fear, or someone to use. That was it. Instead of acceptance and respect, there was rejection and abuse. People seemed even further away than they had before.

Beyond was not surprised in the least that someone like Marnier would be frightened to hear that there was a genius in their midst. He had hoped to hide the fact, to come across as just some guy with a few funny habits and an intelligence that was just above average. No such luck. How had Marnier found out? It didn't really matter, but…

"So?" Prince prompted, squeezing Beyond's shoulder's lightly and squinting down into the younger man's misty silver eyes. "You like some kinda Einstein or what?"

What to do?

Beyond gazed at the huge, hairy man before him, trying to suss him out. Maintaining his carefully practised passive expression, Beyond rapidly assessed the situation. Time to lie, or tell the truth? He shrugged.

"I guess," he muttered. He broke eye contact with Prince and gazed down at his feet. "I have an I.Q. of 158...or at least I did last time I was tested a couple of years ago… so yeah, I guess that does make me smarter than average…"

Silence.

Beyond's eyes flicked back to Prince's weathered face. His expression was one of shock, confusion and slow deliberation. Finally, his broad, square face split into a toothy, lopsided grin. He whistled.

"Smart guy, huh? How 'bout that? 'Course, I kinda figured you got good schoolin' 'cos you talk all posh like… but then all you Brits talk posh, doncha?"

Beyond decided not to question the validity of this statement or where Prince had found evidence to support this belief, or even ask why Prince seemed so certain that Beyond was British. Instead he stared inquisitively at the giant convict and asked, "Does it matter though? Whether I'm a genius or not?"

Prince cracked his knuckles loudly and grinned mischievously.

"Sure it does! Hell - havin' a clever kid on your side's gotta be a good thing, right?" He glanced over at Beyond and instantly the affable, good-natured sparkle faded from his eyes, replaced by a steely glare. "You _are_ on my side, right?"

There was just a hint of threat in Prince's gruff, deep voice, despite his best efforts to maintain his friendly air.

Genius was always either feared or seen as something to take advantage of - that fact was one of only two things that Beyond felt he could absolutely rely on. It was sad really. And ironic.

"Of course I am," Beyond replied blithely. "In fact, I came to see you because I wanted to include you in something I have planned."

"Oh, really?"

Beyond nodded. "Just you. You're the only person here to have accepted me at all so far," he said, keeping his voice soft and innocent, "so it's only fair that I repay your kindness… Although I will need your help to do this…"

"Help?" Prince frowned. "I ain't no genius, kid."

That much, Beyond thought, was obvious.

"You _do_ know an awful lot about this prison though - the layout, the routine, where things are, details about the people here - plus, you're pretty well-respected… and that's what I need. Experience, inside knowledge…. I could only attain that if I stayed here for a long time…"

Prince frowned at this. "Uh… you're in for life though, right?"

Beyond nodded and smiled serenely.

The huge convict's brow furrowed further - he was clearly perplexed. If you were in prison for life, you'd have plenty of time to get used to the prison, right? And, being a smart kid, surely this new guy could work out some kind of way to make the others respect him? Hell, someone with a brain like that could be damned useful to know… he could figure out ways to sneak in and out of places to steal stuff, or pull pranks on the prison officers without them being able to tell who did it… He might even be able to… FUCK! That was it!

"Hey! This thing you're plannin'… You gonna escape?"

"Ssshh…" Beyond glanced around conspiratorially. "That's right… but it's just between you and me, okay? I need your help so I'm happy to take you with me, but anyone else getting involved would ruin everything. We need to keep this a secret - can I trust you?"

"Hell, I'd do anything to get out of this shithole, an' there ain't no-one in here I give two fucks about, so I won't be givin' no free tickets outta here, 'specially if it's gonna fuck this whole thing up… What about you? How am I supposed to know you ain't gonna screw me over?"

Beyond locked eyes with Prince again. The eyes tell a lot about a person - they never lie.

"I know it's not much, but you have my word. Like I said before, I need you, and you've been good to me. There's no reason for me to do anything underhanded - in fact, it would probably work against me, and I want… no, I _need_ to get out of here. And besides…" Beyond's eyes flicked, for a fraction of a second, to the space just above Prince's head "…there's not a lot I could do to you anyway."

Prince pondered a moment before nodding, smirking wickedly and offering Beyond a meaty hand to shake.

"Fine then! We're a team! Whaddya need, kid?"

"I need you to clarify a few things for me - some theories I have about the kitchens, the routines and some of the other inmates…"

* * *

_**A/N:** Apologies for having been a bit long-winded in posting this chapter - writer's block! Nngah! X( Hopefully it's passed now, although I'm still a bit concerned about characterisation/ plot/ grammar/ dialogue/ everything so if I've screwed up anywhere, feel free to let me know - but be gentle! _


	6. Fight in a Thieve's Kitchen

_**Disclaimer: **Prince, Johnson and Nurse Asher belong to me. B is someone else's. I feel I have been cheated, somehow…_

_**Author's note:** LANGUAGE ALERT!!! Again, a lot of 'colourful' language. In fact, Johnson swears so much that I'm worried I may have to change the rating of this story… PLEASE say I don't have to change the rating of this story… X(_

* * *

"What are you doing?"

"What?"

"I said, what are you doing?"

"What the fuck's it got to do with you, faggot?"

'Toxic' James Johnson was every bit as charming as his nickname suggested.

"Oh, nothing, I suppose… I'm just curious is all…"

"Yeah? Well I don't give a fuck what you are - just shut the fuck up, dickhole, or I'll break your scabby face… alright?"

Beyond's eyes widened as he nodded meekly and mimed zipping his mouth shut.

"…Fucking retard…"

Johnson turned back to his task - placing frozen hash browns onto a stack of baking trays. Beyond resumed the laborious job of opening an industrial sized can of beans with a manual tin-opener.

It was a very awkward tin-opener - it seemed adamant not to puncture the can at all, let alone remove the lid. Beyond hunched awkwardly over the massive tin, fumbling clumsily and noisily with the tool, clenching his tongue between his teeth in concentration.

He could almost feel the irritable glare he was getting from Johnson across the worktop.

"Silly thing… ah!" Beyond muttered loudly to himself as he finally managed to pierce the lid of the can. He clapped his hands together like an excited toddler at his triumph, unfortunately knocking the opener out of the hole it had made in the tin as he did so.

"Oh, fiddlesticks… The tongue poked out again as Beyond struggled to find the hole.

"For fuck's sake…" Johnson breathed.

Beyond found the notch again and finally began cutting the lid off of the tin. Using only the very tips of his fingers, he nimbly turned the head of the can opener, slicing through the metal slowly, due to the bluntness of the blade. Once the lid had been pared from the can, Beyond delicately picked the rough-edged circle of metal out of the beans with his thumb and forefinger and squinted at it with obvious distaste.

"Excuse me," Beyond called out loudly across the busy kitchen, waving his free hand around in the air like an attention-seeking schoolchild.

"What is it Birthday?" grunted a kitchen worker.

"I was just wondering what I do with this," he said, dangling the tin lid just inches in front of the man's face. "It's very sharp, you see," His eyes flicked over to where Johnson stood, "very dangerous, potentially… I wondered if there is some particular way of disposing of such things?"

The kitchen worker explained the procedure for the disposal of plastic, metal and paper waste to Beyond, despite having given him the same talk only yesterday. Beyond nodded animatedly and interjected occasionally with an "Oh, yes.." or "Ah - I understand…", but not once did he look at the man or the waste containers he was pointing at. Instead, Beyond gazed vaguely in Johnson's direction, smiling jovially when the other convict glowered at him.

When the kitchen worker came to the end of his speech, Beyond thanked him for his time and made his way over to the huge recycling container labelled 'Metal,' casting glances over his shoulder at Johnson as he did so.

Johnson had just about had enough. What was it with this guy? Abandoning his hash browns, he stalked across the kitchen towards Beyond.

"What the fuck you keep starin' at me for, asshole?"

"Hmm?"

"I said, what you starin' at me for? You deaf or something?"

Beyond shook his head, pointed at Johnson, then himself, then mimed zipping his mouth closed as he had done earlier.

"Answer the fuckin' question!" Johnson growled, his complexion purpling.

Beyond's eyes grew huge. Cautiously, he edged towards Johnson and whispered, barely audibly, "But you told me to 'shut the fuck up'… if you'll excuse the expression."

Johnson clenched his fists. "Yeah," he breathed through gritted teeth, "and now I'm tellin' ya to answer the fuckin' question before I skin ya alive, ya cock-suckin' fucktard."

"Oh…" Beyond glanced up at the security camera in the south-east corner of the room - the one that swept the area near the recycling containers and the equipment store. It was pointing straight at them. He gazed fearfully at Johnson, shrinking into the wall. "I'm sorry," he murmured, edging slowly away from Johnson and towards the store cupboard. I just thought that I'd angered you. I was afraid you might grow to dislike me, and I do so want to make friends…"

The irritable expression on Johnson's face morphed into one of disbelief and jeering amusement. "Friends?" he scoffed. "With you? You seriously ain't right in the head, are ya? Marny sure was talking some shit with all that about you bein' a genius or something - I mean, fuck me! You're a total fuckin' retard! Friends with you? Fuckin' hell! You're so fucked up I bet even your mom don't like ya!"

It was Beyond's turn to clench his fists. He looked up at the camera. It had changed angles now, and was directed towards the centre of the kitchen.

Only a matter of time.

"My mother is dead, actually," he informed Johnson, drawing himself up to his full, considerable height. He had a feeling where Johnson would take the conversation after that piece of information.

"Heh," Johnson sneered. "Figures. What, she kill herself 'cos she couldn't stand livin' with a dickhole like you for a son?"

Beyond bit his lip so hard that it hurt. Being right wasn't always a good thing. But, the camera was slowly panning back in their direction. Only a matter of time…

"I imagine your mother likes you a lot though, right? You seem like a real mummy's boy to me… and by that I don't mean to say I think you're a wimp, either…"

Johnson's face creased with concentration. The camera panned slowly back to face the storeroom which Beyond was now inches in front of. He fell slowly back into his usual hunched, defensive posture.

"Hey!" Finally, Johnson understood. "You callin' me a motherfucker?"

"Oh, I would never use such crass language," Beyond insisted, edging closer toward the open door of the storeroom, "but… yes, that's basically what I said."

Johnson snarled with rage; his knuckles white, his face reddish-purple. The camera was almost facing them.

"Oh - and, by the way…" A dark expression spread across Beyond's face, the merest hint of an icy smile playing with one corner of his lips - the side furthest away from the camera. "…When you said 'fuck me' earlier… was that a request?"

Johnson's anger could no longer be contained.

"I have fuckin' HAD IT WITH YOU!" he roared, lunging at Beyond. The kitchen fell silent as convicts and staff alike turned to see James Johnson throw a punch directly at Beyond Birthday's head. Beyond had the upper hand where agility was concerned - as Johnson's club-like fist hurtled towards his face he hopped swiftly backwards to avoid the blow… crashing roughly into the equipment store as he did so.

Knocked off balance by Beyond's quick evasion, Johnson tumbled after his target into the cupboard, falling awkwardly against the shelves. Bottles, boxes, brushes and pans came tumbling down onto the two men as the kitchen staff rushed to straighten out the situation. It took two men to pull Johnson up from the storeroom floor and away from Beyond. He kept shouting he was going to 'kill the skinny little fucker,' and only calmed down once he was reminded of the warning he had already received for attacking fellow prisoners, and the promise that if he ever seriously injured anyone again it would mean an extra five years on his sentence.

Beyond simply seemed shocked and dazed. He was a little shaky, and appeared to have been hit by something off one of the shelves - his cheek was bleeding.

Johnson was ordered to swap jobs with Satoshi Shikao, whilst Beyond was sent to the medical wing to have his wound checked.

Biting down his anger, Johnson took up his new post near the kitchen door, stirring the contents of a huge saucepan. Beyond was led shakily out of the kitchen by a member of the kitchen staff. The ordeal certainly seemed to have affected him - he stumbled quite badly, almost colliding with the doorframe on his way out of the room, and tripping several times again on the trip to see the nurse.

The kitchen worker explained the situation as he saw it to Nurse Asher, who happened to be on duty, then returned to the kitchen, leaving Beyond in the nurse's care.

"What have I told you about being careful?" Nurse Asher tutted in the gentle tones of a fretful mother. "You've opened up one of your wounds again…"

"I know," Beyond replied quietly, wincing as the plump little woman dabbed the cut with ointment. "I am trying… It was an accident…"

"From what I was told, it didn't sound like an accident. It sounded like you got yourself into a fight…"

Beyond looked up at Nurse Asher with dewy, tear-filled eyes. That ointment sure did sting… Her round face displayed an expression of disappointment, but her eyes spoke of nothing but concern for Beyond's safety.

"I didn't mean to," he mumbled. "I don't think Mr. Johnson likes me very much…"

Nurse Asher smiled sympathetically. "Maybe you should just try and stay away from him for a while, hmm?"

"I'll try… but it'll be terribly hard, working in the kitchen with him. I still have another 12 days there before I change my job… and I'm worried that the kitchen staff will think I'm a troublemaker now…" Beyond dabbed his streaming eyes with the cuff of his sleeve. "I wanted to make a good go of this, you know? Try and make the best of a bad situation. No-one really wants to go to prison, do they? But… after what happened… I guess I'm just lucky to be alive. I wanted to try and enjoy life as much as I could, and make a change… and I was happy when you were looking after me… You've been so nice to me…" Beyond sighed heavily, watery silver eyes fixed on something invisible, then shrugged sadly. "I guess I'm just having bad luck…"

Nurse Asher bit her lip. In her job she sometimes began to wonder why she wanted to become a nurse in the first place. Working in a prison inevitably meant that a lot of the patients she treated were violent and short-tempered, liable to insult and abuse staff over the slightest thing. She had been spat at, hit, threatened and sworn at more times than she cared to remember - why did she stay? Gazing affectionately at the scrawny young man before her, she knew. She stayed for people like him. He looked so lost, so frail and lonely in his oversized prison overalls… he needed someone to care for him. He needed someone to support him as he tried to change his life for the better. And he appreciated those who gave him that care and support - isn't that what he just said? This was why she stayed - to help people like Beyond Birthday. To make them feel just a little happier.

"Aw, sweetie…" She tried hard to keep the emotion out of her voice. She thought she did quite well. "I'm proud of you, trying hard like you are - you keep it up. If there's anything you want to talk about any time, or something I can hep you with, you just tell me, okay?" She smiled lovingly and swallowed the lump in her throat. Poor little thing…

Beyond smiled sadly in kind, and shifted in his seat. "It's okay, Nurse - you already do more than enough for me, coming to check on me every day as you do… I like it when you visit. I wish… um… no… His voice trailed off as he shook his head and stared down at his feet.

"No - what is it, honey?"

"Oh, I was just thinking… I'd really have loved it if I'd been put to work with you… But that's silly…"

"It's not silly, sweetheart - I think it's sweet of you to say that… and it'd sure be nice to have some help around right now, what with Nurse Seymour on vacation and all…"

"But they don't let prisoners help out in the medical wing, do they?"

Nurse Asher shook her head. "Not usually… But there was a doctor in here once - here for embezzlement, I think - he was put to work with us because we were short-staffed at the time, and he obviously knew what to do… Maybe I could see if you can come and help out here for a little while - at least until things have calmed down for you…"

"Oh no, Nurse - I don't want you to go out of your way…"

"Don't be silly, poppet! Like I said, I could do with some help - I'm doing this for me as much as for you! You'd only be doing little things, of course, like sorting out the medication and keeping things clean - but it'd give me more time. And I'm sure you'd learn what to do quick enough - you might even already know more about my job than I do!"

Beyond adopted a pleasantly shocked expression. "Thank you so much, Nurse Asher. I'll make it up to you, I promise."

"It's nothing, sweetie. Now, you get back to whatever you're supposed to be doing - it's lunch time soon, isn't it?"

"Hmm?" Beyond glanced up at the clock. "Oh! Yes - I wouldn't want to miss that!" He stood, smiled shyly and scratched the back of his neck. "Umm… thank you again…" He took her hand delicately in his and patted it tentatively before dashing off to get his lunch.

Nurse Asher smiled fondly at the slowly closing door from which Beyond had just exited. He really was such a sweet boy…

--

Prince had saved Beyond a seat next to him at a table in the hall. He grinned toothily as the younger convict plopped himself down awkwardly on the plastic chair beside him.

"Hey! How's it hangin' kiddo?"

"Hmm? Oh. Fine…" Beyond shrugged.

Prince raised his eyebrows expectantly. Clearly he had been hoping for some news.

"I, uh… had a bit of an accident in the storeroom," Beyond offered, indicating the cut on his cheek and nodding vaguely to the opposite corner of the room where Johnson was sat. He hoped this was enough to shut Prince up until they got to somewhere more suited to private conversation.

"Ah…" Prince winked dramatically and nodded. Beyond tried not to wince.

"Yeah… At least it meant I got out of the job a bit early - I had to go and see the nurse."

"The hot one?"

"… Nurse Asher."

"Oh. Nah - not the hot one then." Prince patted Beyond on the shoulder as if consoling him, then clapped his hands together. "Well, never mind. Hey - what's for eats today, chef?"

Thank goodness for short attention spans.

"Special today - sausage, hash browns and beans, and pudding if you want it."

"Pudding?" Prince's brow wrinkled for a moment. He was sure there was something he was supposed to remember about pudding…

"Yes, pudding. Well, if you call semolina a pudding, that is." Beyond pulled a face. "I really wouldn't opt for the semolina, if I were you."

Prince stared at the young man. Beyond's eyes were fixed pointedly on him. There was definitely something about… Oh! Yeah…

"Hey - I totally agree. I mean, what the fuck is semolina, anyhow? You not having any then?"

Beyond smiled genially. "Oh, no. I hate sweet food."

* * *

_**A/N:** I really do sincerely apologise for Johnson's potty-mouth. He's not a very nice chap… _

_Anyone have any idea what B's up to? Hell, there's so many little things going on here that I'm worried about people knowing what's going on at all… _

_Thank you so much to everyone who's been reading_ Sequel _- especially those who have reviewed, favourited or alerted - I'm just so grateful to you for giving me the incentive to continue with this… otherwise the plot would probably just eat me alive!_

_Merry Christmas to all of you (if you celebrate it!) and I hope you'll come back in the New Year! As a sort of crappy Christmas gift to you all (I was tempted to write a Christmas special… but then I realised that, as_ Sequel _is set in late summer it might be a little difficult to do that…), I've started adding 'bonus features' to the story - the first one is accessible from my profile page. And no, that's not a plea for more page views! XD_

_FFYP-Det-Lawliet :D_


	7. Forgotten Pills

**_Disclaimer_:** _B and L are not mine. They're just fun to play with..._

_**Author's note:** OMG! Only one swear word this time! XD_

* * *

L.

L, undoubtedly the world's greatest detective.

Revered by his peers, feared by criminals the world over and respected even by those in the most lofty of positions, L was, unquestionably, brilliant.

Incomparable.

Unbeatable.

Infallible.

Unknown.

Like some sort of deity - L was never wrong, L was never seen. Really, if you thought about it logically, the very existence of L was debatable. Who was to say that L wasn't a whole group of detectives, working under the same name, behind the cover of computer screens and voice distorters? The image of L as a singular being could, quite reasonably, merely be an illusion; an untruth designed to forge a bond of trust with the world's police forces and strike fear into the hearts of felons. It was comforting to think that just one man could do so much to protect the innocent. It was terrifying to think that just one man could solve so many difficult cases alone. It would be perfectly understandable to question the existence of L. There was no real proof that he truly existed - just stories.

Signs.

Belief.

The children of Wammy's House believed in L. No - they _knew _that L existed. He never came to visit, rarely spoke to them directly, but… they _knew._ He was their inspiration and aspiration. He was every bit as good as he seemed, if not better; and they, his disciples, wanted nothing more than to be like him.

To be him.

To beat him.

Beyond looked back on his days at Wammy's House with a mixture of emotions. Right now, he felt quite glad that he'd been taken into the orphanage after the death of his mother. Education at Wammy's was far from compliant with the National Curriculum - apart from the fact that the regular lessons were far in advance in comparison with those at other schools to accommodate the needs of the resident young geniuses, there were other, less conventional lessons too, to aid the children in their quest to become the next L.

When he had escaped from Wammy's, Beyond soon came to realise how useful some of the skills he had learned at the orphanage were. Pickpocketing, for example, was a breeze for him, thanks to the slight-of-hand training that he had received - that particular ability made it so much easier to take things without people knowing…

…or plant things…

It was thanks to his training at Wammy's that Beyond had been able to locate the rat poison in the store cupboard when he and Johnson had toppled into the shelves during their fight. It was thanks to the orphanage that he was able to snatch a pinch of it and hide it about his person. It was thanks to the lessons tailored to train the next L that Beyond had managed to slip the poison into the semolina pudding as he left the kitchen - without anyone noticing. It was L who had put him in prison and, in a weird, twisted way, it was L who would enable him to escape.

How deliciously ironic.

--

It had been a hectic couple of days. On Tuesday evening, shortly after dinner, a number of prisoners were taken ill. By 9pm, the medical ward had been inundated with an influx of patients - dozens complaining of stomach cramps, sweating, vomiting and diarrhoea. The medical team - already short-staffed - were struggling to cope with the demand until Nurse Asher made a suggestion.

Beyond Birthday.

She had asked earlier if he could work on the medical wing for a while, but the chief medic had refused. He had said that they had no way to be sure that Birthday could be trusted - his psychoanalytical tests had come back inconclusive - if he wasn't insane, there was still the matter of his past crimes, and the scheming intelligence that had devised such bizarre methods of killing. But… they were desperate, and it was true that Beyond was smart enough to understand what to do…

Nurse Asher had been sent to fetch Beyond to the medical wing and had found him pleading with a guard to allow him to go and see if he could help the medical staff with their dilemma. He seemed genuinely pleased when Nurse Asher told him that they would like his assistance, and turned out to be most helpful. It was him, in fact, who had suggested that the cause of the problem may be some knid of poisoning, prompting urine tests to determine what kind.

Beyond worked late into the night with the medical team. His duties were restricted to fetching equipment and cleaning up messes, of course, but he put so much effort into it and was so efficient that the chief medic agreed that he would allow Beyond to shadow Nurse Asher until Nurse Seymour was back from vacation.

--

Beyond had been entrusted with the job of sorting out medication for the convicts who needed it. It was a truly fascinating job. Whilst Prince had been able to ply him with knowledge and rumours from a prisoner's point of view, there were some things he couldn't tell him; some things he couldn't be certain of. Things like the medical and mental conditions of the other convicts, for example. Prince had speculated on Marnier's state of mind.

"Always freaked out about something', is Marny," he'd said. "Thinks every fucker's out to get 'im. Well per… puh… par… Uh…"

"Paranoid?"

"Yeah, that's it. On brain tablets too, I think. Total nut-job."

Pure speculation. But, as it happened, entirely true - the chore of administering medicine had confirmed it. Oliver Marnier was indeed on medication - Aripiprazole, a kind of drug used to treat schizophrenics.

How fortuitous.

--

There certainly were lot of cupboards in the medicine store, full of hundreds of different salves, solutions and pills. Unless you were familiar with the layout - or very observant (another trait encouraged by Wammy's) - it would be near impossible to find anything in those cupboards. Beyond assured Nurse Asher that he was very observant, and he would be able to find his way around the cupboards okay on his own while she tended to her patients, but she unlocked only the ones he would need to look in to help… and because the chief medic would not be best pleased if Beyond was given a completely free rein.

Beyond completed his task quite quickly, thanks to Nurse Asher's considerate actions. Far quicker than anyone would have expected… and well before Nurse Asher was due back to check on him…

Lock picking was another skill Beyond possessed. Whilst it wasn't exactly encouraged at Wammy's House - most likely out of concern for the safety and privacy of the children and staff - it wasn;t entirely discouraged, either. Beyond believed it to be a very useful skill for an aspiring detective - if people have something to hide, they don't often hide in full view, after all - vital pieces of evidence could be hiding behind locked doors…

…or an item essential to finish the case…

--

Placebos.

Every medical facility had some.

Medication for hypochondriacs.

The prison medical wing kept theirs in a cupboard in the north-east corner of the med-room, Beyond discovered.

Paperclips are handy things.

The placebos were small, round white pills - much like many of the tablets Beyond had sorted for the other convicts.

Much like Marnier's medication, even.

--

Washbasins.

Every medical facility had some.

Useful for washing hands and equipment.

Even more useful for disposing of unwanted tablets.

Much like Marnier's medication, even.

--

"Are you finished yet, honey?" Nurse Asher trilled, her plump, beaming face appearing in the doorway.

"Yes, Nurse," Beyond smiled. "Just washing my hands. You can never be too careful, can you?"

"That's a very sensible approach to take, sweetheart. I'll just check what you've been up to…"

"Nurse…?" Beyond wiped his hands hurriedly on a paper towel as he scuttled over to where Nurse Asher stood, scanning the contents of the tiny cups of tablets.

"Yes, love?"

"I was just wondering… Have the test results come back from the urine tests you did last night? Do you know why all those men got ill yet?"

"Oh, yes," the nurse nodded. "You were right, you know - clever boy - it was something put in the food. Well, just in the pudding, it seems. Rat poison - can you believe it?"

The carefully arranged expression of shock on Beyond's face answered her question well enough.

"Who did it? Does anyone know?"

"Not yet. Obviously someone who was working in the kitchen yesterday… Who was doing dessert, do you remember?"

"Hmm…" Beyond furrowed his brow. "There were two people who did the pudding - first of all it was a… an Oriental-looking man. Japanese, probably. I think his name is… Shikao? Mr. Shikao?"

"Oh, yes… I think I know who you mean…"

"And then after we had our little disagreement, Mr. Johnson took over the dessert…"

"James Johnson? …Didn't you say that the two of you ended up in the store cupboard after he tried to hit you? Aren't there two store cupboards in the kitchen? Which one was it?"

"There were lots of cleaning things in there, and all the equipment…"

Nurse Asher gasped. "Then I guess that would be the place where they keep the rat poison… He could've gotten hold of some while he was in there, maybe - in all the confusion…"

"…And slipped it into the pudding without anyone noticing… huh." Beyond nodded. "I suppose it's possible. I mean, either one of us could've got our hands on any number of things in the store - it's possible that no-one would have noticed with all the commotion, as you say."

"But it couldn't have been you, could it? After your argument, you were sent here - you were with me. And you didn't work on the pudding… Besides…" she smiled fondly, "I just don't believe you'd do such a thing."

"Oh, Nurse!" Beyond beamed. "I'm so happy! No-one's ever shown so much faith in me!"

Without warning, he flung his arms around her, embracing her awkwardly for a few seconds before pulling away just as suddenly.

"Sorry…"

"…It's fine, honey," Nurse Asher assured him. She looked a little taken aback at his sudden display of emotion, but not offended. In fact, she seemed quite happy.

"Oh. Erm… good. Well… you shouldn't really cross me off your list of suspects though. You need to be professional - it would be awful if you got in trouble because of me… But… I suppose, given Mr. Johnson's past, it's not unlikely that he might do something like this…" Catching the puzzled look on the nurse's face, Beyond added, "He murdered his wife with rat poison, you know. That's what he's in for, I believe."

Nurse Asher clenched her fists. That settled it then.

"Honey - as far as I'm concerned, you just solved our mystery. There'll be an investigation, sure, but from what you just said…" She reached up and placed a comforting hand on Beyond's shoulder. "I don't care if there are repercussions - I'll back you up, sweetie. You and I both know you're innocent here, so if anyone asks me about this, I'll stick up for you, don't you worry."

"…You'll be careful though?"

"I promise."

"…Thank you, Nurse."

"You can call me Cheryl when we're working together, if you like, honey."

"…Cheryl… That's a lovely name…"

--

Cheryl Asher and Beyond Birthday left the medical wing together, each full of hope and certainty.

Cheryl went to dispense the medication, Beyond was dismissed.

Each went their separate way.

* * *

_**Author's note:** I am SO sorry that this update took so long! I wrote about three versions of the chapter opening, all of which were terrible; then I got ill, then I had the dreaded Writer's Block... So, so sorry. :(_

_I would like to admit at this point that I don't have any real knowledge of the effects of rat poison on humans - I just made up the prisoner's afflictions. It was easy enough - all I had to do was focus on the semolina and imagine what my response would be to a bowlful of that stuff... regardless of whether or not it was poisoned! Bleh... I also don't know much about Aripiprazole, although it definitely IS a drug used to treat schizophrenia! I just thought it'd sound better if I had a name for it..._

_Whilst I'm here, I'd like to plug my brother's BB story - _Loose Threads_. If you haven't read it yet, please consider doing so - it's awesome... and I promise I'd think that no matter who'd written it!_

_As always, comments and questions are more than welcome! :D_


	8. The Great Escape

_**Author's note: **__Minimal swears in this - but they are there. Just so you know..._

_**Disclaimer:**_Death Note_ - not mine, a'ight!_

* * *

"Don't you fuckin' well lie to me, you bastard! I know you done it! You was tryin' to kill me an' I know it!"

Above the din, a single male voice could be heard, bellowing these words with utmost conviction. To most, the noise was an unwelcome commotion. To two certain individuals, however, it was music to their ears: a celebratory fanfare.

"Sounds like Marny's gone off on one again," grunted the larger of the two, shifting his bulk on his cell's tiny bed and grinning toothily.

"Indeed," his companion nodded. The scrawny young man unfolded himself out of the wooden chair in which he had been squatting, and peered out of the doorway at the scene below.

"Hey kid - how long… uh… how long d'ya think this is going to go on for?"

The younger man squinted down at the gang of brawling convicts below.

_Oliver Marnier - 6 hours, 46 minutes_

_James Johnson - 2 hours, 3 minutes_

…Oh - and the charming Hugh Appleby, rushing in to break up the quarrel - _2 hours, 9 minutes._

"Oh, I imagine we'll be hearing the end of this very soon, Mr. Prince. I think that this could be sorted before lunch, even."

"Right," the huge, hairy convict's grin grew broader. "That's good to hear."

Beyond Birthday smiled too. _He_ knew what was coming.

--

For the past few days, Oliver Marnier had been quite agitated. His paranoiac tendencies had become more pronounced, in spite of his medication. The medical staff had tried increasing his dose, but to no avail - Marnier's condition appeared to be steadily worsening to the degree that it was feared that he may be teetering on the brink of a psychotic episode.

Oh dear.

Another pressing mystery was the case of the poisoned pudding. Although it had been established that rat poison had indeed been the cause of the sudden wave of illness a few days ago, the identity of the person who had put it there had yet to be determined. The prison staff had managed to narrow the list of suspects down to those who had worked in the kitchen that day, may have had access to the equipment store at some point, and had chosen not to eat dessert at dinnertime. Of the men on that shortlist, it had been generally accepted that the three most likely suspects were Satoshi Shikao, James Johnson and Beyond Birthday. CCTV footage of the events in the kitchen on Tuesday morning had revealed that Shikao had not been into the store himself, which more or less ruled him out. That left Birthday and Johnson. Logically, Birthday was practically exempted from suspicion due to the fact that he had left the kitchen soon after he had tumbled into the storeroom with Johnson. It wasn't impossible that he may have obtained some poison while he was in there, but it seemed highly unlikely that he would have had the chance to use it. The culprit, by process of elimination therefore, was Johnson. In theory. Everything fit - he had the means, the motive, the history and the opportunity… he eve had a perfect ready-made excuse for not having eaten the pudding himself - he was a coeliac, and therefore couldn't have eaten it without suffering ill effects. It all made sense… in theory. Theories and logic, however, are useless without proof to back them up, and as such, the prison staff were unable to officially pin the blame on Johnson.

This, and the increasing amount of disturbances caused by Marnier (whose main source of angst appeared to be, interestingly, the poisoned pudding incident - he was convinced that Johnson had done it in an attempt to kill him), had left the staff and convicts saturated in an intense feeling of unrest…

…just how Beyond liked it.

--

Closing the door to, Beyond turned and settled himself back down on the chair in the corner of Prince's cell. He stepped carefully backwards onto the seat, pulling his knees comfortingly close to his chest. One bony had clawed the material of his too-large prison overalls at the knee, the other rested just beneath his chin. His mouth opened, and in went his thumb. So many people had ridiculed him over this particular habit, but this was how it was done. They didn't know.

"Mr. Prince." His voice was so quiet it was barely audible, but it didn't really need to be. Steely grey eyes - determined, eager and enquiring all at once - spoke loud enough alone.

"I'm ready, kid," Prince murmured, sitting up on his bed and leaning in towards Beyond. He finally seemed to have understood the need for secrecy. "You sure it's today?"

"Absolutely," Beyond nodded. "Trust me."

Everything was ready. All they had to do now was wait…

--

Shortly after 11:30, James Johnson finished his shift in the kitchen and returned to the common area. Oliver Marnier always spent his mornings there, whiling away the hours until he had to punch out car number plates in the metal workshop.

Beyond Birthday crouched, peering down at the floor below from the balcony rails outside Prince's cell.

_James Johnson - 26 minutes, 34 seconds_

_Oliver Marnier - 5 hours, 9 minutes_

"Mr. Prince… get ready."

This was it - any moment now…

Calmly, Beyond and Prince made their way down the stairs to the ground floor. It was possible to keep the common area in view at all times - Marnier calling out to Johnson, Johnson retaliating with a barrage of curse-words, Nicolas Cerretti emerging from his cell to see what the noise was about… the numbers pulsing steadily.

_Nicolas Cerretti - 7 minutes, 14 seconds._

They reached the ground floor and retreated to a shadowy corner, next to a disused office. It was a blind-spot, used by convicts to conduct trades of stolen items. Marnier threw himself at Johnson, Johnson toppled backwards into Cerretti, the numbers danced.

"Why are we just standing here? Why don't we…"

"Quiet! We go when I say. It's too soon - too calm."

Cerretti lunged at Marnier, accompanied by Johnson. Marnier picked up a plastic folding chair, the growing crowd of prisoners roared and jeered. Four, maybe five guards tried to break through the mob.

_Hugh Appleby - 30 minutes, 44 seconds._

Beyond's eyes scanned the room - a throng of bodies and numbers; a haze of red. The guards were preoccupied - but backup would come soon enough. Backup was no good. It was time.

"Go," Beyond hissed. Prince knew the route - they had discussed it so often. Skirting around the crowd, they headed for the east corridor. The back entrance was their best bet. There was time - he could see it.

_Cheryl Asher - 20300502_

Beyond faltered. What was she doing here? She had taken the night shift today - she wasn't due here for hours…

A single woman attempted to break the crowd, buffeted by the sea of bodies, her first aid equipment swept from her grasp as she fought the waves.

_Stupid, stupid…_

"Prince! Go on ahead!"

"But I thought we were…"

"JUST DO IT! I'LL CATCH UP WITH YOU!"

He didn't wait for a response. He turned and ran, his eyes on her name. seconds before he reached her, the crowd surged and she was swept up. Nothing left but the numbers, and these pathetic, stupid humans.

He tore into the crowd with animalistic energy. He throbbed with adrenaline - every nerve tingled, every vein sang. He was… what? Scared? Angry? Excited? It didn't matter.

He slipped past countless bodies - stepping over them, weaving between them. She was here somewhere - she had to be.

In the midst of all of it now. He could see Marnier brandishing a chair again, swinging it wildly at Hugh Appleby, who was trying to restrain him. The guard dodged each blow, but eventually lost his balance, falling backwards onto a table… perilously close to another man.

_Nicolas Cerretti - 46 seconds._

Those close enough all turned and stared as Appleby and the table toppled over, knocking Cerretti down. All except him. He knew that Cerretti would die of his injuries - it was of no interest to him. Their panic and confusion could serve him here. Where was she?

Numbers, numbers, numbers… and names. Peter Eriksson, Lyle Miller… Cheryl Asher!

Pushing roughly through the gang of men, he reached her, finally. He grabbed her by the wrist, pulling her sharply close to his chest. His free hand clamped around her mouth. She struggled against her captor, but she wasn't strong enough. Staring around to find out who had grabbed her, she gasped.

Deathly pale eyes met with hers.

"Trust me," was all he said.

She shuddered. Behind them, a man could be dying - she had seen him fall, she felt the danger. Behind them, a man lay dead - he knew it.

She nodded slowly, and tried to bite back her tears. He removed his hand from her mouth, retaining his grasp on her wrist, and led her out of the crowd.

--

Prince had made good progress. He had been forced to take out a guard who had seen him make his way to the exit, but he had otherwise been unhindered. It was easy to get out of the yard. The guards normally on duty here had long since left to help with the rioting, which left them free to hotwire an armoured truck and smash through the wire fencing…

…Just as planned.

* * *

_**Author's note:**__ I can't tell you how nervous I've been about writing this chapter! It's dumb really, seeing as the whole story so far has been building up to this… but still! It may not be terribly good (or even passable...), but it's done now, and up for public scrutiny! Feel free to scrutinise as much as you like - I can take it! _

_Thanks to FFYP-det-Yagami (as always!), A. Pseudonym and various DA- types._


	9. Road Trip

_**Disclaimer: **I'm just playing with B and L for now - I'll give them back later..._

_**A/N: **Here there be swearing. But not much._

_

* * *

_

_SLURP._

Tea for variety this time - black, strong, nine sugars. He'd been drinking coffee all day.

_SLURP._

Over the past three days, he estimated that he'd slept maybe three hours and forty minutes in total. Approximately. The world never slept, so why should he? It seemed unfair that his body required him to miss out occasionally.

_SLURP._

He wouldn't sleep. He couldn't. Not yet. He was waiting for something. He'd been expecting _something_ for days now.

Stirring another sugar cube into his cup, he turned back to his computer screen.

His pallid face looked almost ghostly in the dim light of the multiple screens around him, his jet black hair and the dark circles beneath his eyes further added to the otherworldly illusion. Flickering images from hidden cameras, satellite broadcasts and internet sites reflected in his eyes, but he ignored them all. Only one of the numerous screens interested him. He stared hard at the large, gothic L, waiting.

…

"L?"

A shadowy figure flickered on screen.

_Finally…_

"What is it Watari?"

"It's unconfirmed as yet, but the lock-down of that prison earlier on today does seem to have stemmed from a recent riot. It seems serious - my sources suggest that there were several serious casualties, perhaps even deaths."

"I see. I suppose you have no way to determine if all of the staff and prisoners have been accounted for?"

"No, not yet… although it does look as though an armoured truck has gone missing, and the back fence is badly damaged, which suggests…"

"…He's done it."

Watari paused. Even though his expression was obscured by darkness, it was clear he was a little taken aback.

"You were expecting this?"

"Not expecting _this_ exactly, no," L admitted, the slightest hint of a smile playing on his lips, "but… it would have been very disappointing if B hadn't tried _anything_, wouldn't it?"

--

They had been driving for hours. Out on the road, free at last. It was just like a good old fashioned getaway movie, the way the kid was playing things.

They'd stopped off at a gas station, ditched the prison van and 'acquired' a new vehicle - nice shiny convertible, red one. It was amazing how it happened. Guy rolls up in his car, gets out, minutes later… dead. Tripped over into a stack of gas canisters, head split right open. The kid was so calm about it, like he knew it would happen. Like with the riot. Never mind genius - the kid was like a fucking fortune teller. While the guys who ran the gas station squawked over the dead man, the kid raided the cash till, then they took the dead guy's car. Well, he wasn't going to need it any time soon. Nice of him to leave the keys in the ignition.

The woman had been sent to buy clothes for them. The kid was right - they needed to get out of their prison uniforms. She didn't argue with him or try to run off or anything. Must have the hots for him or something. Poor kid - getting stuck with a fat chick. Ah well - if this is a road movie, there's got to be a love story, right?

Prince grinned broadly and subconsciously raised the volume of the car's stereo.

"Mr. Prince."

The kid had this cold, sort of steely edge to his voice now. He'd been kind of weird since they left the prison. Well… weirder than usual, anyway.

"Please don't do that. I allowed you to have the radio on - all I ask is that you keep it quiet. I'm concentrating."

Concentrating on what? The hard bit was over now, right? They were free - there was no need to get his balls in a knot. Not that it mattered, really. The kid was going to drop him off soon - _The Floor' em _was a dive, sure, but it was like home. The gang would be there later on, no question. His gang, The Scorpions. Home, after 6 whole years.

--

Dustin Prince got out of the car and said his goodbyes. He said he was going to meet his gang. He didn't seem like the sort of man to have been in a gang. Well, sometimes he didn't. Beyond said nothing to him, just nodded and drove away. He drove through the next town over, and onto the highway on the other side.

About 30 miles out of town, Beyond pulled over to the side of the road, switched off the engine and turned in his seat. Cheryl Asher, former prison nurse, tried hard to look him in the eyes, but she couldn't.

She felt him stare at her for a long time. What was he thinking? What was he going to do? This morning, she wouldn't have questioned him like this. This morning, she had woken up feeling so happy. Last night - about this time last night - her nephew had called to tell her that he and his girlfriend were expecting a baby. She had been so excited that she couldn't wait to tell someone, so she had gone into work early to tell the staff. She had plenty of paperwork to catch up with, anyway. She'd been about to go and tell Beyond the good news when the riot had broken out, and her whole world had been turned on it's head. There had been riots before, but… not like this.

Beyond had something to do with it, she could feel it, she could see it in the way he had acted when he pulled her out of the crowd. But why did he have to drag her into this? If he wanted to escape, then why hadn't he just gone? He wasn't the same person any more - from the moment they had escaped the crowd to meet up with Prince, he had this cold determination about him. When he had told her to go and buy the clothes earlier, he sounded so distant, he looked so distracted - a million miles away from the bright, sensitive young man she'd thought she knew. What had happened? And what did he want with her?

"Nurse…"

Cheryl wiped the last of her mascara from her streaming eyes and forced herself to look up.

"…Cheryl. Is it still okay for me to call you Cheryl?"

His voice was very low, barely above a whisper. She looked at him, finally. He stared back. Two huge, steely grey eyes - like mirrors to the moon. The inconstant, ever-changing moon.

She couldn't speak, so she nodded instead.

"Oh. Good. I just wondered if you'd like to sit up front now that Mr. Prince has gone. I'd like to talk to you, and I think there's an ABBA CD in the glove compartment - you can put that on if you want."

Now, this sounded like the Beyond she knew. What was going on?

"Wh-where are you t-taking me?" Cheryl stuttered.

"I'll tell you on the way," he promised, twisting back round in his seat and turning the keys in the ignition. "Trust me."

* * *

_**Author's Note: **Apologies for the late update... :( _

_Prince has gone, poor Cheryl is being taken on a mystery tour... and finally - L has made his first appearance! :D As always, I'd love to know what you lovely people think - especially if you have any idea what B's up to!_

_Thanks for reading! :)_

_**Bonus:** There's a new link on my profile page to a piece of Sequel-related fanart... although if you've been on my Deviant Art profile lately, you'll have already seen it... It's there anyway! :P_


	10. A Smile in the Dark

_**Disclaimer:** This story is mine. All mine. I wrote it all by myself. :3 _

_Beyond Birthday is not mine. He's from _Another Note: The Los Angeles BB Murder Cases._ NISIOISIN wrote that all by himself. He gets paid to write fan fiction, I don't. If you want to see why, read on..._

XD

* * *

They were travelling just a little too fast, she and her kidnapper.

Beyond.

Beyond the kidnapper.

Whoever he was.

The night air had grown chilly, so Beyond had put the convertible's roof up. The wind had picked up outside and had been blowing his already naturally messy hair into his face - it still stuck out at odd angles even now the roof was up. He seemed a lot more relaxed now that Prince had gone, but somehow still distracted. A fierce determination still lingered in his eyes, but the cold, distant mannerisms had warmed. Within minutes, a highly-strung escaped convict had apparently metamorphosed into a cheerful ABBA fan…

"_Knowing me, knowing you, AHAAAAAAA… There is nothing we can…_ Why aren't you singing?"

His voice was unremarkable, but pitch perfect. She looked up at the bright, quirky young man at the wheel and forced herself to think of a plausible answer for the question. Ah, yes - she'd been kidnapped and inadvertently involved in a prison break.

"I don't feel like singing."

"Oh." He sounded forlorn, but his expression didn't change at all. His fingers tapped out the rhythm of the song in perfect time. "I thought maybe ABBA might cheer you up. They cheer me up."

Cheryl smiled in spite of herself. "Are you a fan?"

"I saw that. You smiled. See - it did work."

She tried not to laugh, but failed. The more she thought about Beyond, the less sense he made. It was as though there were several Beyond Birthdays all rolled into one. She decided not to think about it - there was little point in doing so now. In the middle of the night, miles from anywhere, she was just grateful that it was the eccentric, lovable Beyond who was driving the car right now, not the kidnapper or the serial killer…

"I guess it did. You like them, then?"

"Not really, no…"

"So why…"

"I thought you wanted to know where we were going?" The cold edge bit into his voice again.

"…Yes. Yes, I'd appreciate that."

Beyond cleared his throat.

"We are going to Arizona. You're going to stay there for a bit."

"I am? Where?"

"I have an apartment there. It's a bit… basic, but it's warm and dry and, more importantly, out of state. I don't suppose anyone will bother you there - not for a while, at least - although it's not certain, so I would advise keeping a low profile. The Californian authorities will be looking for you, and I imagine they would want to question you about the prison break. I don't want them to do that."

A dozen questions raced through Cheryl's mind. She thought for a moment, the chirpy melodies of _Mamma Mia_ dimmed to a murmur in her mind as she tried to straighten her thoughts.

"…You said _I_ would be staying there, and you didn't want anyone to question _me_… Where are you going?"

"Me? I don't know exactly where yet. All I know is that I'm going wherever L is."

"L? The detective?"

"Yes."

"Do you know… Wait. Wasn't L the one who…"

"Got me arrested? Yes, that was him - in a roundabout way. He won. Again. But he won't this time."

His expression hardened again, and Cheryl found herself in the car with a stranger once more. She swallowed the lump in her throat.

"You talk as though this is a game - as if…"

_As if human lives were as trifling as pawns or playing cards. As if nothing mattered but the contest - nothing mattered but L._

"It is a game. To him. L knows how to play with people - and so do I."

Cheryl's eyes widened as she realised just how she came to be in this position.

"Play with people?" she repeated. "You mean use them, don't you? You used me too, didn't you?"

She kept her voice as low as possible to hide her emotions - anger, sadness… whatever these feelings were - but the pace of her breathing and the tension in her body gave her away.

She was hurt. Angry. She felt betrayed. Maybe. Perhaps all of those things. It made sense. Realising that you've been used as a tool, feeling as though you're worthless beyond a designated function; backup for a grand plan… that was, perhaps, the worst feeling in the world. Beyond frowned hard at the asphalt outside and kept driving.

"You knew I'd grown fond of you, didn't you? Right from before you even got discharged from the hospital wing" She paused, shaking in her seat. Suddenly the events of the past week made sense. "That's how you did it - that's how you escaped! You planned the riot, didn't you? You were tied to the pudding incident and you were helping with the medication - you must have found out that Mr Marnier was on medication for schizophrenia, and figured that he might trigger a riot if he didn't get his medicine, right? The poisoned pudding was enough to start him off anyway… And you used me to…"

The sentence trailed off as her voice broke. It made sense now. Mostly, anyway. It may not have been impossible for Beyond to have slipped rat poison into the pudding, now that she thought of it, and he'd had plenty of opportunity to mess with the convicts' medication… all because of her. She had been aiding the escape of two dangerous prisoners all this time; bringing about the riot, planning her own kidnap…

That was a point… Something didn't make sense to Cheryl.

"Why," she whispered, barely audibly above the hum of the car's engine and the tune of _Super Trouper_, "did you save my life back there?"

Why would he? She was just a tool anyway, and she had provided him with all the opportunity and support he had needed to make his escape - why would he care if she lived or died?

"Save your life?" Beyond murmured, not taking his eyes off the road. "What makes you think I saved your life?"

"Well… I probably could have died there, or at least been badly injured. You saw Mr Cerretti before we left, didn't you? Why did…"

"You wouldn't have died."

"You don't know that. And anyway…"

_Cheryl Virginia Asher - 36 years, give or take a few months._

"No. You _wouldn't _have died. Trust me."

"_Trust you?_" There was a coldness in Cheryl's voice she wasn't even sure _she'd_ heard before. She _had _trusted him - that was why she was here. She had trusted this man all this time - even cared for him…

"…Even if you _did_ know for sure that I wasn't going to die, why did you pull me out of the crowd? Was it in case I figured out what you'd done? You didn't want me to talk - is that it? You said just now that you're taking me someplace away from questions…"

"You're not making any sense," Beyond interrupted. "You were doing so well too…"

"Don't patronise me."

"I wasn't. You were doing well. You figured me out. But you're wrong about why I took you with me. Think about it logically. Would you figuring out any of my plan make any difference to me at all in my present situation?"

Think logically? It was difficult enough for Cheryl to keep herself together, let alone organise her thoughts… Would it make a difference to Beyond…?

"Not really, I guess. The police would still be after you, whatever happened."

"Correct. Now try and think of a reason why I might go and pull you out of a crowd of large angry men - one that _would _make a difference to me. I expect that there will be two possibilities that you'll think of that will seem most likely to you - the first one will probably be wrong so just go right ahead and tell me the second thing."

The first thing that Cheryl had thought of as Beyond and Prince bundled her into the back of the prison van was that they intended to use her as some kind of hostage - a bargaining chip for their guaranteed freedom, something like that. Now that she thought of it though, that seemed unlikely. If that had been their intention, wouldn't they have chosen someone more important? Wouldn't they have kept her more closely guarded? They had sent her out to buy clothes for the three of them on her own…

What was it then? It was unlikely that Beyond had rescued her so that she could do things for them - as he had said, he knew how to play people: she was sure he would be able to find others to aid him if needs be. And she could hardly imagine that Beyond would be shallow - or desperate - enough to take her with him for sex or anything like that… She guessed it _could _have just been out of guilt…

What reason would she herself have to risk injury and possible death in order to save someone? There was only one reason good enough, surely? But…

"You… you can't mean to say that you did it because you care for me?"

Beyond glanced at her finally. "Can't I? Oh. Well then I don't know why I did it either."

This was confusing.

"Beyond… What do you mean?"

"Well, I can't possibly mean to say that I did it because I care, right? Isn't that what you said?"

"…You know what I meant."

"I do?"

"Beyond…"

"Yes. You're right. I do."

"Well…?"

"Well what?"

"Did you do it because you care?"

"Is that important?"

"_Yes!_"

The last word escaped her lips before she could stop it. Yes, it was important to her. Even now.

"Why?" Beyond was staring fixedly at the road again.

"Why is it important to me?"

Beyond nodded in lieu of a reply.

Cheryl paused for a moment, observing the awkward way Beyond hunched himself over the steering wheel, which he gripped tenuously with his thumbs and forefingers only; the way his new clothes hung loosely on his scrawny frame; his lank, messy hair which always seemed to appear unkempt no matter how often he washed or brushed it; those huge, ghostly eyes.

"It matters," she replied, finally, "because I care about you too. As a fr… Well, no. Maybe not as a friend - more like…" Cheryl sighed deeply. "Last night, my nephew - he's about your age - rang to say that he and his girlfriend are expecting a baby. I was so excited. That's why I came into work early, you see - I wanted to tell someone. I live on my own, you see - I don't know if I mentioned it - and it was kinda late to be phoning around… I was on my way to tell you about it when the fight broke out. Anyway… I love kids - that's why I was so excited about the baby - I wanted some myself one day, but I tried and tried with my ex-husband… turned out that I had a condition that meant I couldn't carry children, so it never happened. That's why he left me - he wanted kids. He's got two now, with his new wife - little girls. But… well, I guess what I'm getting at here is - and I hope you won't think this is weird or stupid - I kind of…I suppose I sort of see you as a son. Almost."

It sounded stupid, saying it out loud, but… that was how she felt. That was how she had always felt about Beyond. She wanted to protect him and nurture him. She felt proud of his achievements, felt hurt when he got into trouble. She felt exactly the way she imagined a mother would feel about him. She stared at her knees. She supposed it was dumb, really. But he seemed so… alone…

The car slowed to a halt at the side of the road.

"I'm tired," Beyond announced, taking the keys from the ignition and killing _Chiquitita_ in full swing as he did so. "They say you should rest every once in a while when you're driving long distances - I guess that's especially true if you don't have a license."

Cheryl smiled. Beyond smiled back.

Genuinely.

It surprised him - a smile he could feel not just in the muscles in his cheeks, but throughout his whole body. It had been a long time… It kind of hurt…

"My mother liked ABBA a lot," he said slowly, staring up at the stars. "She used to sing their songs while she was cooking. She was friendly and caring and honest… and she… I loved her a lot." He drew his feet up from the floor by the pedals and up onto the seat, pulling his knees close into his chest. "She wore the same perfume as you do, you know. And her shoes never matched her outfit either."

Cheryl sat, dumbstruck for a moment. Beyond chewed his thumb meaningfully, his eyes still on the stars.

"…Are you…" She felt tears prick the corners of her eyes. "Are you saying my shoes don't match my clothes?"

"Well, they don't. Ever." Beyond turned his head to look at her. "But… that's okay. I like it." His gaze flickered towards her feet and he smiled again. "I'm not keen on shoes anyway."

Cheryl laughed. All the tension and hurt and uncertainty of the last few hours seemed so far away now.

"Why are you laughing? I just lost you your job and life as you know it."

"I know sweetie… but it's okay. I'm just…" Cheryl smiled. For the first time in years - possibly the first time in her life, she felt as though someone needed her as much as she needed them. "Thank you for being you, honey."

Thank you for being you. That was all you really could be, no matter how hard you tried to emulate someone else. No matter how much other people expected you to change.

That was something his mother would have said.

Beyond straightened himself in his seat, cracking the bones in his spine and shoulders as he stretched out the tension. "Honey, huh? Yeah, that's me - sweet. Yum yum yum…"

He slipped the keys back into the ignition once more, and started the engine.

"…Actually, I'm kind of hungry. I wish I'd asked you to get some food while you were out shopping…"

* * *

_**Author's Note:** All that time between updates and all I can come up with is this? Pfft. L was going to have a scene, but it just totally didn't work, so he got CUT. Sorry L. Sorry everyone. _

_Hopefully this chapter isn't just a whole load of nothing - I just wanted to straighten out what was going on with B and Cheryl, what they were doing etc. etc... and perhaps provide a little insight into B's motives. Let me know what you think if you have the time._

_Thank you to CitrusLove, for being cheeky enough to remind me when I've left updating for far too long - the threat of the rabid NZ sheep army clearly works! XD_


	11. Personal

_**Disclaimer:** If you REALLY want to believe that _Death Note_ and _Another Note_ belong to me, then fine. Go ahead. I don't care if people laugh at you..._

* * *

Beyond sat huddled in the corner of the dim-lit café, listening carefully to the tinny radio perched on the counter. He tore open the sixth sachet of sugar - brown this time, for variety - and stirred it into his coffee.

The news reporter's accent was so subtle it was almost unnoticeable. He sounded very professional, very serious. Beyond liked that. He managed to get a delicate hint of concern into his voice, mingled with authority - Beyond liked that too. Very fitting, for the current story.

_'Following last night's riot, in which 6 prisoners and two prison workers were killed, and many more wounded; it has been confirmed that some prisoners have indeed escaped from the jail's highest security wing, along with one of the prison hospital's nurses. _

_Two escaped convicts have been verified as Dustin Prince, who was serving a twelve-year sentence for a string of crimes including armed robbery, smuggling and arson; and Beyond Birthday, whose name will be familiar to many as the monster behind the recent Wara Ningyo murder case in Los Angeles. Citizens are advised that both men are potentially very dangerous - Birthday in particular, who is suspected to be mentally unstable. More on this story as it develops.'_

Beyond frowned into his cup. The lack of descriptions of both himself and Prince suggested that police file photographs had not yet been issued to the press. They had hardly mentioned Cheryl at all, which implied that they were still uncertain as to whether she had left willingly or not. Hopefully they would believe, quite rightly, that she had been taken against her will, or at least that she had disappeared to escape the riot. Before he had left earlier, Beyond had ordered enough food for her for at least two months, from a store whose delivery men wouldn't ask questions - with any luck that would keep her going and ensure that she wouldn't have to leave the building too often - he didn't want her to be disturbed any more than was necessary. He, on the other hand, would have to be wary. He had taken the precaution of buying a hat as soon as the shops had opened, and had zipped the jacket that Cheryl had purchased for him yesterday up as high as it would go, so that the collar partly obscured his face. Sooner or later, a photograph or description _would_ be released, so he needed to disguise himself as well as he could. There were things he needed to do before he left.

--

"L, you can't…"

"Watari, I can only hold them off for so long. Sooner or later, they'll…"

"That's exactly what I'm saying! Surely you can't expect them to…"

"Do you _want_ this to be linked back to the orphanage?"

Silence. On the monitor, Watari blinked.

"L… you _know_ that the odds of that happening are slim…"

"Yes. But that's beside the point. The point _is_ that things are bad enough as they are. We don't want this situation to get any worse. As it stands, the chance that the LABB case may be linked by an outside source to Wammy's House is twelve percent. If a current photograph is released to the public, that figure is raised by five percent."

"I don't see how. If they release a current photo, it's unlikely that anyone would connect the boy who lived at the orphanage to the man he is now, covered in scars. Besides, you know what lengths we go to to protect the identities of the children - _you _devised most of the protection scheme. _And _an fuzzy old photograph was released when he was arrested…"

Silence again. Watari grinned mischievously at the large gothic L displayed on the computer through which he and the young detective were conducting their argument. "Got you there, didn't I?"

Even across hundreds of miles, the frosty reception to that remark was unmistakeable.

"I'm busy, Watari. I'll talk to you later. Maybe."

Watari sighed. If it means that much to you, why don't you tell them who you are? Tell them L doesn't want the photograph released?"

"…For what reason?"

A shot of venom, and the crackle of an audio connection being severed.

"Charming."

--

Much as L hated to admit it, Watari had been right about the reasons he had given for wanting to keep B's photo hidden - it had very little to do with Wammy's House. But his suggestion that L, the legendary detective L, should request that the photograph should remain unreleased? No. Even if there were a logical, plausible reason for making that request, he wouldn't do so. This wasn't one of L's cases - L didn't chase after escaped convicts. L wasn't even supposed to have gotten involved with a case as small-scale as the LABB murders - to further pursue the perpetrator of those murders was to provide a link between L and Beyond Birthday. The public nor the police would know there was any such link.

No, this one was not L's - this was his. This was personal.

It was a good job that US police files were easy to hack remotely.

* * *

_**Author's Note:** SO sorry for the HUGE delay in updates! My laptop died a while ago, and I rarely get enough time to type up fan fics/ lengthy emails/ anything of any import at the moment... :( I'll try and get the next chapter up a little quicker, but no promises... I'm sure anyone who's been watching this story for a while has gotten used to my sporadic updating anyway! XD Thank you so much for your patience!_

_Apologies if there are grammatical/ punctuation issues herein... I'm pretty sure there are, but hey! I'm hardly aiming to become a professional novelist! _

_...Oh, and that last line? For the record, I have NO clue whether that's true or not, and I don't intend to attempt to find out! Just in case anyone from the FBI or US Grovernment happens to be reading... Death Note fanfiction... :)_


	12. Room Mates

_**Disclaimer:** _Death Note? _Not mine. Damn._

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David Duddins stared unblinkingly at the television, contentedly stuffing another fistful of Doritos into his mouth as he leaned further forward in his seat. This was good stuff - who needed the entertainment channels when the news was this exciting?

Duddins had been avidly following the news lately. For the first time since those weird Locked Room Murders in Los Angeles, a really interesting story was unfolding. Having been unemployed after losing his computing job almost a year ago, Duddins had little else to do but follow the news. He felt privileged in some strange way, to be able to devote so much time to following some more recent stories - this particular headline had grabbed his attention instantly, not least because it was related to something he had a fair bit of knowledge about: computers. He felt connected to this story somehow. He knew_… he knew_ about this. He had a theory about it. In fact, he felt he could be close to solving the mystery. Far closer than the police were, anyway. And for the first time since his late teens, he had a similar minded flatmate to discuss his theory with.

"Hmm…" Duddins nodded knowingly at the screen as the report ended. "Very interesting."

"Wha…?" his new flatmate, a young man named Elric, frowned, perplexed. "Shorry - musht've misshed shumfing…" The tall, skinny man swallowed his mouthful of chocolate peanuts, poking a bony finger around the packet for the next one. There weren't any left.

"That story about the guys who escaped from that prison in California, right? It's getting pretty exciting."

"Those…? Oh! The men you were talking about last night?"

"Beyond Birthday and Dustin Prince, yeah."

"Why? What did they do now? One of my peanuts rolled under the sofa, so I wasn't listening."

"Right, right. Well, what it is is that… You know how the police hadn't released a photo of that Beyond Birthday guy, right? I mean, they only managed to get a real fuzzy photo of him when he was a kid when he did those murders too, right?"

"Hm? Oh… Yeah, I think so…"

"Right. Well, they can't now."

"How come?"

"Well, that's just it - his file's just disappeared off the database. The _central_ database, not just a local one. And they hadn't made any copies, either. A whole load of other files have been corrupted too, but Birthday's is the only one that's completely gone."

"Ohhh… So… Do they know how that happened, then?"

"So far, all they'll say is that it looks like a virus - they don't seem to have a clue. But police databases shouldn't be able to get viruses that easily."

"… No, you're right! So… Hey - you know about computers and stuff - what do you think happened then?"

Duddins drew himself up in his stained, saggy armchair importantly. Elric had only been staying with him for the past day and a half, but Duddins was already beginning to like him. _Elric_ appreciated his intellect, understood that his theories were sound. Plus, Elric didn't seem to be particularly clued up himself, which always helped.

"Well… I reckon it can't just be a regular virus - the protection on police computers would be too tough for it to get through, like I said, right?"

"…Right."

"In _fact_, I don't think it's a virus at all - not even one that's been placed. _I _think someone has definitely hacked into the system, deleted Birthday's file, then corrupted it to make it _look_ like a virus."

"Ohh… Wow."

"Yeah. And you know who that hacker is, right?"

"Umm…"

"It's Birthday, isn't it? Obviously. I mean, he's got the motive, right? He doesn't want people seeing his photo - it'd make it easier for people to spot him. And you'd have to be really smart to be able to hack into the police database without being traced, and Birthday's a genius, they say. Got an IQ of… 200 or something."

"219. Er… I think you said it was 219..."

"Hmm? Oh. Yeah, yeah. I must've mentioned it last night, right?"

"Right."

"So… I mean, I think I could hack the database, so he definitely could, right?"

"Right."

Elric leaned over and daintily plucked a Dorito from Duddin's bowl as the huge man droned on and on about his theories. Most of what he was saying was reasonable enough, Elric thought, running his tongue lazily along the edges of the chip. Sometimes even accurate. He was fairly sure, for example, that Duddins hadn't been exaggerating when he'd said he'd be able to hack into the police database. From what little he knew of Duddins, Elric had determined that his skill with computers would make that feat possible… although he may not have been able to do so and remain as untraceable as the mystery hacker. It had been the fact that Duddins had been fired from his job for hacking into another company's files that had first attracted Elric to Duddins to begin with. That, and the numbers.

_David Duddins - 9 days._ Well… approximately. From what 'Elric' had found out in his research, his new flatmate was only 34 years old, but, thanks to his stupendously unhealthy lifestyle, had the physical fitness levels of a man at least twice that age. He was huge - not surprising seeing all he did was sit and snack all day, getting up from the TV or computer only to fetch more beer and snacks. He was competent enough with computers to be able to do most things with them, and more than keen enough to show his expertise given any opportunity.

He was perfect.

Beyond Birthday smiled serenely and nodded at whatever Duddins had just said. He wasn't listening. He was in hiding. Elric Lawliet - he hadn't been able to resist - would take over from here; travel the world on Beyond's behalf. First, however, Elric Lawliet would need a passport. Beyond could make one himself, of course, given the equipment to do so, but it was far more fitting for his purpose - and entertaining - to have someone else create one for him… For Elric. Duddins had already shown a huge interest in the ongoing adventures of Beyond Birthday anyway, and had hinted at wanting to get involved with the case, hadn't he?

How deliciously ironic.

"…but the police are so useless, aren't they?" Duddins droned. I mean, it's _obviously_ Birthday, right?"

"Right," said Elric, knowing full well that it can't possibly have been. It was a good job that Duddins would be working on the case from this side…

Why _had_ L deleted that file, anyway?

--

"L."

Two slender fingers deftly pushed the buttons that connected and disconnected incoming transmissions in quick succession. He could keep this up all day if he had to, and Watari knew it. Why did he have to be so persistent? L knew what was coming anyway. And he was sure Watari already knew what his answer would be. Why did people feel the need to ask questions they already knew the answer for, to talk about things there was no need to discuss? It was done now - the file had gone. He'd corrupted a few files to make it seem virus-like, but even an idiot would figure out sooner or later that it simply wasn't the case. He'd been careful to remove only B's file though. The obvious conclusion to draw from that particular action, once it had been determined that the files had been hacked, would be that the hacker had been B himself. Not only did that deter the police from following up any other potential hackers, it was also kind of a fun idea.

The ghost of a smile swept across the young detective's lips. This was going to turn nasty sooner or later, he just knew it - but that was no reason not to have a little fun for a while…

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_**Author's Note:** It took me so many attempts to write this chapter, it's ridiculous. Hopefully it will all make sense now... _

_Again, apologies for the sporadic updates (or lack thereof...) Sorry. :(_


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